


The Dragon of the North

by Maester_Aemon_Heterodyne



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Angst, Arranged Marriage, Drama, F/F, F/M, Family, Future Fic, Gen, Graphic Sex, Graphic Violence, Incest, M/M, Multi, Other, Treachery and betrayal, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-05
Updated: 2017-09-05
Packaged: 2018-12-24 03:58:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12004536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maester_Aemon_Heterodyne/pseuds/Maester_Aemon_Heterodyne
Summary: A century after the Song of Ice and Fire was sung, a century after Daenerys Targaryen restored her dynasty to the throne and returned dragons to the world, Westeros is at rest. Summers are long, winters short and mild, harvests are good, merchants trade freely, and the realm prospers.Alysane Stark is enjoying the freedom of her youth at Winterfell when a great green dragon appears in the skies above her home, upending her once simple existence. With the arrival of three Targaryen dragonriders just days after, she learns she must go south for training as a rider herself. There, Alys becomes deeply ensnared in the politics of the realm just as a war for the Iron Throne breaks out and threatens to tear the kingdoms apart.A distant sequel to WendyNerd's Trials and Tricks and its companion stories, and a rewrite of the Winter Dragon, one of my previous stories.





	The Dragon of the North

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Winter Dragon](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4890085) by [Maester_Aemon_Heterodyne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maester_Aemon_Heterodyne/pseuds/Maester_Aemon_Heterodyne). 



The Stone Giant was, by wide acclaim, the best inn in Wintertown. True to its name, it was a gigantic four-story stone building with a couple dozen rooms that were larger and better furnished than those of any other tavern in the North. It was not, however, the rooms that drew visitors like flies to fruit. It was the mead. 

All the breweries of Wintertown competed with one another, as there was little for most winter occupants to do but drink, and Wintertown had grown quite famous abroad for its ales and meads. Stone Giant mead was by far the most famous, and the most valuable. The Giant kept it flowing every hour of every day of every season, and on the rare occasions it had any casks left over to sell, merchants paid with the mead’s weight in silver. 

Alysane was nearly done with her second flagon of the stuff. She’d never had more than one before, as her Lady Mother expressly forbid her more than one cup of any drink, and the sweet, potent mead was slowly going to her head. She’d never been drunk before, and thought she might want to. Looking at her brothers, however, she had second thoughts. 

The three of them shared a table by one of the Giant’s many hearths, and Brandon and Edric were quaffing the mead with careless abandon. Alys has lost count of the number of rounds they’d shared, and both were looking rather the worse for wear for it. 

Not all of it was drink, however. There was an undercurrent of sorrow to their little gathering, stemming mainly from Edric’s impending departure. He was leaving for King’s Landing at first light, in the pursuit of knighthood, even though he didn’t believe in the Seven. He probably wouldn’t have to look too hard though, as any knight with the tiniest bit of sense would likely knight a Stark of Winterfell for valiantly scratching his arse.

It helped that Brandon, the elder of Alysane’s brothers, was already a famous warrior. Though he never talked about it himself, everyone in Westeros knew about how Brandon Stark had unhorsed Ser Orys Baratheon, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, in a joust, a man known as Stonewall for the many jousts he’d kept his mount in, or how he’d personally ridden down and slain the leader of the Red Knights, a group of outlaws in the Dornish Marches, only to turn down the offer of knighthood from the very Kingsguard he’d unhorsed just a month before. 

Edric spent an almost alarming amount of time and effort attempting to weasel details of these encounters from Brandon. Alys had thought once that it was brotherly teasing, but ever since he’d announced his plans to go south, she hadn’t been so certain. Maybe he’d sought details because he’d wanted adventures like Brandon’s. Now that he was drunk, she was beginning to see how true that was. 

Brandon, for his part, had let the mead loosen his lips, revealing details that Alys had never heard. “The damn knight had a spear,” he said. “Great big monstrous spear like they like in Dorne. I was riding at him, and I didn’t see it til I was right on top of him. He thrust at me, but missed. He only buried it three feet deep in my damn horse, which had the grace to collapse on top of him. It shoved me off, hard, but when I got back he was pinned under my mount, and didn’t put up much of a fight when I took a swipe at his head.” Edric gave a barking laugh, though Alys couldn’t quite see the joke. “Wasn’t much of a duel, despite what the damn singers and books would have you believe.” 

After a while of silent drinking, Edric spoke. “Why’d you turn him down?” 

Brandon gave him a quizzical look. 

“Why’d you turn down that knighthood?” 

“I don’t take honours from fake gods.”

“I hope you didn’t tell Ser Stonewall that,” Alys said. Both her brothers gave a hearty laugh at that, and Alys smiled. 

“I didn’t, don’t you worry,” said Brandon. “I told him I wasn’t a true knight.” 

“How’d he take that?” Edric asked. 

Brandon’s face became rather pensive. “He told me that he wasn’t either.” 

That was about the last thing Alys had expected the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard to say. No true knight? He was the  _ definition  _ of a true knight. He was the very measure of what knighthood meant. How could Orys Baratheon not be true? 

Edric, judging by his almost comically flabbergasted face, seemed to share Alysane’s dismay. 

Brandon continued, not reacting to their confusion. “He said that knight was something you aspire to. He told me that every knight in the history of the Seven Kingdoms, and even the ones that lived before the Andals crossed the Narrow Sea, all failed to live up to knighthood at some time in their life. Knighthood is a lifelong aspiration. Knighthood was where you start, not finish.” 

That sounded almost exactly like what Alysane’s Lady Mother had told her about being a proper lady. Several years ago, when she’d lost patience with a visiting lordling from somewhere she couldn’t remember over something equally inconsequential, Alys had hit him square in the mouth, knocking out a tooth. Mother had sent her to her chamber, confining her there until the next morning. When Mother finally called on her, Alys had feared the chastisement of a lifetime, but instead, her mother had sat down beside her on her bed and put her arm around Alys’ shoulders.  _ No one can ever be  a lady all the time,  _ she’d said.  _ You can’t be perfectly poised and courteous every moment of every day. The world will always test your patience, wear away at your resolve. You made a mistake, Alys. Learn from it, and don’t repeat it.  _

“That’s not terribly knightly, is it?” said Edric, apparently missing the point. “I mean, if you’re not a proper knight to begin with, you’re not much of a Ser at all, are you?” 

Brandon shrugged. “He said he understood, but told me that if he ever saw me again, hed knight me at swordpoint.” 

All three of them laughed. 

The next morning, in the predawn grey, Edric had saddled up and was ready to depart. His ash-coloured direwolf Ember had already left, never having been the most patient of beasts. Unfortunately, that made him an excellent match for his master. Alys, Brandon, and their own wolves had come to see him off. 

“You’ll write to us when you get there?” Alys asked him. 

“I’ll write every day, little sister,” he said. That was a lie; there weren’t enough ravens in King’s Landing to let him. It was still a comforting lie. “And when I’m done, I’ll send a book to the printers, and everyone in Westeros can read about my deeds.”

“And here I thought you hated books,” Brandon teased. 

“Only the ones that aren’t about me.” Edric smiled. “Maybe you’ll finally write one that  _ is  _ about you.”

“Doubtful. I’d have to be worthy of writing about first.” 

“Your intransigence is famous in all the way in Asshai already.” 

Brandon laughed gently. “I’d say be safe, brother mine, but that would defeat the purpose of adventuring.”

“Don’t you worry, I’ll be safe as houses.” 

“Don’t be so sure, Ned,” Alys said. “Houses end too. Remember the Karstarks.” 

“Oh, there you are with your history lessons. Leave the past to maesters, Alys. I’m going to  _ make  _ history.” His Stark-grey eyes flashed brightly beneath his mop of dark hair. Without another word, Edric Stark hopped onto his horse, and rushed heedlessly through the gates of Winterfell into the coming morning. 

“Gods help him if he ever gets in a chase with someone,” Brandon said, after Edric had finally disappeared from sight.

Alys loved few things more than riding horses, and most who’d ever seen her ride one, especially those who raced her, said that she was half horse herself. Only Brandon of all the people in her life had ever been able to really match her. Edric, however, had never been terribly good on horseback, and his riding had always been clumsy at absolute best. He was quite capable with sword, but he’d never caught Alys even once. He’d been trying since Alys first mounted a horse on her sixth nameday. “Maybe he could ask them to slow down a bit, you know, to make the fight more honourable.” 

“If he finds a southerner with that much honour, it’ll be time to start looking for estates in Valyria.” 

“What about Father?” Alys asked. “He was the King’s Master of Laws. That made him the arbiter of honour.” 

“The arbiter of honour?" Brandon snorted. "Now that’s one I’ve not heard about Daeron Targaryen. C’mon, sister, maybe we can snag some extra food from the kitchens before everyone else starts to eat.” 

 


End file.
